


Everything Changed When The Birds Came

by PoseidonsUnderpants



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Multi, dick has it under control, he owns a gym, jason was never robin, mix of pre and post reboot, the Waynes cant catch a break
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoseidonsUnderpants/pseuds/PoseidonsUnderpants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Red Room is Jason Todd's pride and joy, and it brings in enough money to pay the bills and fund his best friend's vigilantism. Jason had seen a lot growing up in Gotham, but nothing could quite prepare him for the sight of almost the entire Wayne family walking into said gym one morning asking for fighting lessons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm excited for this new AU, but that doesn't mean I'll write fast. 'The Red Room' is a shout out to where the Winter Soldier (and Black Widows) trained in the Marvel Comics, as the character has a lot of parallels with Jason. Also, swap two letters and you get Red Hood. Title from The Neighbourhood.

Jason reluctantly woke to his alarm, body stiff and muscles aching. Despite repeatedly warning his clients of the dangers of not stretching, he himself was a regular breaker of that rule. Roy said it was his ego that had developed from years of training then tutoring that was to blame; Jason told Roy he was a prick. A prick that probably had a point, but whatever.

His gym, which, despite being kinda small and only having second-hand equipment, was his pride and joy. His pride and joy just so happened to open at eight o’clock on Sunday mornings. What _had_ he been thinking?

He stumbled out of his room, and, after rubbing his eyes, saw his flat mate and best friend, Roy, passed out on their well-used sofa. Jason snorted fondly, knowing that the idiot had probably only recently gotten home. It wasn’t a rare sight, due to the long hours Roy pulled as Arsenal that made the extra ten steps to his room seem too much after a night of running around and getting beat up. This time he hadn’t even removed his quiver, deciding to fall face-first on the sofa—Jason would normally carry him into his room so he could sleep somewhere more comfortable and out of his way, but Jason didn’t trust himself to not accidentally set of any of the bombs and traps Roy littered his suit with.

Roy didn’t look too badly hurt, so he walked past the sofa and into the kitchen, and then looked at his schedule for the day while their coffee machine poured his drink. There weren’t any classes on Sundays, but Jason could expect a few regulars to turn up throughout the day, looking for a workout or a spar. Jason was mostly planning to read for most of the day—the joys of being your own boss.

Jason downed his coffee, cracked his neck, then went to prepare himself for an uneventful day.

 

-

 

Jason stole Roy’s motorbike to ride across Gotham to the gym—which was called the Red Room, due to the colour of the mats (which made blood stains easier to hide)—figuring if he needed it Jason would get a lot of angry text messages before Roy probably got one of his super-friends to fly him to the gym so he could get the bike himself. At least, that’s what he did last time; Troia had looked even less impressed than Jason did. He made sure to park it behind the gym—its bright red paint with yellow arrow designs on it wasn’t exactly subtle; Jason was honestly surprised that Roy still had a secret identity, considering he used this bike to pop to the shops for some milk at least once a month. 

He had the doors open, lights, air-con, speakers and TV on by five to eight, and then he settled himself comfortably into his chair behind the front desk and started reading some crime-mystery paper back, half-listening to the TV in the background. In Gotham it was important to keep up to date with the news; you wouldn’t want to go out at night whenever the Joker escaped Arkham, or walk into a neighbourhood that was in the middle of a gang war.

_“—Wayne called the police at ten twenty-five last night to report the theft and ask for an ambulance; Timothy Drake-Wayne, his adopted son, was admitted to hospital, but was released later that night with a broken nose, two black eyes and a mild concussion. Bruce Wayne and his other children were all unharmed, despite shots being fired, but collectively police estimate they lost over a thousand dollars worth in cash, jewellery and clothing—”_

Jason raised an eyebrow at that, despite knowing that that loss was nothing to people like the Wayne’s. Jason wondered if that had brought up bad memories for Bruce Wayne—weren’t his parent killed in a stick-up? Eh, he could probably afford to drink away any unwelcome flash-backs with champagne or something.

Half an hour later he grew bored of the predictable and illogical novel. Remembering Kori’s lectures on the importance of breakfast, he ate some protein bar that tasted almost as bad as Roy’s-sorta-dad’s chilli, which Jason had had a spoonful of once after being dared by Roy—he had ignorantly scoffed and said _how bad could it be?_ Needless to say, Jason was glad Roy had never, in their years of friendship, introduced him to Oliver Queen. The man must be some kind of monster, and probably shouldn’t be protecting a city.

He stretched painfully for about ten minutes before gloving-up and hitting and kicking at a bag with all his strength. About three songs into that he was interrupted by the sound of the door slamming the wall as it opened. He stepped away from the bag to see who it was—he was expecting either Michael or Maria, they were both early risers—but instead was greeted with the sight of the Wayne family, minus the daughter, standing in front of his desk.

What the fuck.

Bruce Wayne stood closest to him, wearing expensive workout clothes that displayed his broad shoulders and thick arms. To the side of him was a pale, sinewy teenager with a plaster on his nose and two purple eyes that stood out prominently against his skin—Timothy, then. Standing a pace away from them was a short, middle-eastern-looking boy who was glaring at Wayne. Behind him was probably the most gorgeous man he had ever seen—he had the predictable black hair and blue eyes, but his eyes were the brightest he’d ever seen (pictures of Superman didn’t count; the guy was a freaking alien), and his hair was just the perfect length for running your hands through. His skin-tight vest top showed that while he wasn’t a pile of muscle like himself and Wayne were, he was perfectly toned and had little to no body fat—what was this guy’s name again?

Jason grinned at the family, hoping to hide his complete confusion at what they were doing here.

“Can I help you?” He called, making his way across the mats towards them.

“Are you Jason Todd, the owner?” He nodded. “Then I hope so,” Wayne said in a deep voice. “You might have seen on the news—”

“—That you guys got mugged? What can you expect, man—this is Gotham, right?” He smirked, not caring that he was probably being rude. He can admit to being slightly (a lot) prejudiced against this man and his family due to their wealth and status—years of living on the streets were great for building up resentment.

“That _is_ true,” Timothy allowed, glancing at Bruce who looked a bit peeved. Jason wondered if his voice always sounded like that, or if the broken nose had screwed it up somehow.

“But we were all thinking that maybe if we learnt some self-defence we’d be more prepared next time,” the hot guy said brightly.

The kid tutted irritably, but before he could comment the hot guy squeezed his shoulder and gave him a significant look. The kid huffed and rolled his eyes, but didn’t speak up.

“What about the girl?” Jason questioned, just to be difficult. “She’s probably the most likely of all of you to get into trouble. Is fighting not for girls?” He questioned mockingly.

Wayne looked like he was seriously considering punching him, training be damned; Jason had heard stories about this man’s temper, and hadn’t believed that someone as stupid as Wayne was could have the ability to be offended by something. He was actually kind of impressed.

“Cass is more than capable of looking after herself,” Timothy looked irritated too.

“But not while her and her family are held at gunpoint?” Jason countered.

“Look, we appreciate your … concern, but it’s only us that really need any training. We all know the basics, but last night proved that that isn’t enough,” the hot guy explained, his eyes narrowed slightly. He had long eyelashes, Jason noticed.

“Well, sure, makes sense,” Jason shrugged, done with arguing and possibly shooting himself in the foot—he was sure these people were willing to spend a lot of money for any kind of training. “I have classes throughout the week in boxing, kick-boxing, krav maga, all that shit—sorry,” he glanced at the kid, who was probably about eleven, “or you can pay for one-on-one sessions with me and I could teach you what I think would be best for you.”

“How about four-on-one?” Wayne asked.

“Aww, family bonding? Sweet,” Jason cooed.  “Sessions would probably have to be at least two hours to make sure you all get enough attention. It probably wouldn’t be as effective, but working out with company is always better—or, at least, more fun.”

“Hmm,” Wayne glanced at his children. Timothy shrugged, the kid glared at him, and the hot guy smiled and nodded, so apparently that was good enough. “Do you have two hours free now?”

“Sure do,” Jason grinned. “First session is free, ‘cause I’m mostly going to be getting a feel for what you can and can’t do. I don’t think we’re gonna have to worry about muscle-building or weight-loss, though, kiddo, you should probably eat more.” He looked Timothy up and down.

“So I’ve been told,” Timothy admitted kind of bitterly.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. As long as you make your size work for you it doesn’t really matter how big you are, but I’m just picturing myself trying to teach you how to weave under punches and having to, like, squat to the floor. It’s gonna be really humiliating for me, you should be ashamed.”

Timothy snorted and his stance relaxed, “I promise I’ll never forgive myself.”

Jason had just decided that this family was probably okay when the kid spoke for the first time.

“Grayson,” he said in an accented-yet-posh voice, sounding every bit like the privileged little snot he was, “this imbecile speaks even more than you do.”

The hot guy—Grayson—snorted, “‘this imbecile’ is allowed to kick your arse, Damian.”

Damian sneered at him, “I’d like to see him try.”

Jason raised his eyebrows at the kid’s confidence, and looked to Wayne for permission. Wayne nodded, and instead of being concerned that this man was offering up his young son up to fight a six foot man that weighed over a hundred kilograms, Jason smirked and beckoned the kid into the centre of the mats.

He wasn’t planning on hurting the kid at all, just putting him in his place to establish that Jason was the one in charge here. A bonus was that he could show off in front of hot-guy-Grayson.

The kid stepped forward without hesitation, and didn’t wait for Jason’s prompt before leaping forward and kicking at him. He had strangely perfect form, the top of his foot hitting the side of Jason’s thigh almost faster than he could see. Jason let the kick land, because not matter how perfect it was it was still coming from someone who was a third of his size. Before Damian could get both his feet of the ground, Jason grabbed the leg he kicked with and flipped the kid over his shoulder, spun and slammed him as gently as possible onto the softest part of the mat. The kid predictably got winded, and Jason took advantage of this by twisting him onto his front and softly yet purposely pinning him against the floor. The kid struggled for about ten seconds before tapping out.

“Great kick,” Jason praised, pulling the boy to his feet despite Damian’s protests, “but you really can’t afford to leave yourself so open that close to an opponent that’s bigger than you.”

“ _Tt_. Don’t presume to lecture me, fool. I merely underestimated your strength, and didn’t predict that you could—”

“Just throw you up in the air?” Jason finished for him, since the high-and-mighty attitude was just what he didn’t want to deal with when it came to rich kids. “Hell, I have to do it at least once a week getting my mate outta fights, and he’s my age. You’re not hurt, are you? That’d make me look bad.”

Wayne actually looked impressed—who let this man have kids? Timothy was smirking at Damian and Grayson looked amused. That was good enough for him.

“Your ridiculous hair dye makes you look bad,” Damian retorted. Jason was finding this kid more amusing than annoying, and, besides, he happened to think the dyed white patch against his black hair looked cool.

“Harsh, dude. You’re breaking my heart,” Jason clasped at his chest dramatically, and then Damian had decided he’d had enough with him and walked back to his family.

Jason splayed his arms out wide in invitation.

“So,” he said cheerfully, “who’s next?”

 

-

 

“Jason, you bastard!” Roy yelled at him from the living room the second he closed the door. “You stole my bike, the one I use for _superhero-ing.”_

“You mean, the one you use for spending all our money on?” Jason countered. He was too exhausted from hours of testing a family of infuriating billionaires. Roy was at the same spot Jason had left him this morning, but had changed into jeans with not-so-stylish holes in and a ridiculous flannel shirt that clashed with his hair. He appeared to be watching some game show, no doubt so he could yell abuse to the contestants for not knowing who the third King of England was, or something.

“You stole my _baby_ , Jason. _I_ should be the one with the face, not you.” Jason could imagine how bad his bitch face he was.

Jason flopped down on the sofa, burying his head in Roy’s lap before groaning in frustration.

“God, you’re moody,” Roy sighed, but started playing with Jason’s hair the way he liked—his mother used to do the same after his dad yelled at him as a kid. “ _Fine_ , tell me about your day, honey.”

Jason turned his head to the side so he could watch the game show and talk without his voice being muffled.

“I just—I don’t _understand,”_ he grumbled, “one minute they were dodging my every move, the next they hit me with the limpest fucking wrists I’ve ever felt. We were working for _hours,_ and none of them even worked up a sweat. They obviously weren’t tired, yet the hot guy was all ‘gosh, I’m _exhausted_ , I’ve never worked so hard in my life!’ But the bastard definitely had. You don’t get abs like that from fucking yoga.”

Roy made a vaguely interested noise, “who’s ‘they’? New customers?”

“That’s the best part, Roy—I’m now the official personal trainer of the mother-fucking-Waynes. Go ahead and buy as many parts as you want, I’m getting eighty dollars per hour per head—for a two hour session for all four of ‘em, that’s six hundred and forty a session, three times a week. I’m gonna be as rich as you were.”

Roy’s hand froze in running through his hair the second he mentioned the Waynes, and when Jason finished talking he grabbed his hair and yanked upwards so he could look at Jason’s face.

“Ouch, what the fuck, dude?” Jason snapped. “Sorry, I forgot, _you_ weren’t rich, _Ollie_ was …”

“Did you say you’re training the _Waynes_ to fight?” Roy gave him a disbelieving look, and sounded uncharacteristically urgent.

"Yes, pay attention, dammit,” Jason rubbed at his head. “They got robbed last night, one of ‘em got hurt. Wanted to learn self-defence. Not unheard of.”

“Yeah, but …” Roy looked troubled. “Why’d they go to you?”

“Heck if I know,” Jason snorted. “’Cause I was the only place open on a Sunday morning? I don’t care, bro, it’s great money and good publicity.”

“Ah,” Roy said, but didn’t expand for a while. Jason had a shower to wash off his sweat and got changed into jogging bottoms. When he entered the living room again Roy was hissing furiously into his ‘work phone’, looking massively pissed off.

“Whoa,” Jason commented. “Happy place, Roy. I’d go there if I were you.”

Roy glanced up at him, promised that “this isn’t over, _dick_ head,” into his phone like he was a cheap villain or something, then threw his phone to the side, and it bounced off the arm of the sofa and onto the cushion next to him.

Roy fumed for a few seconds before turning to face Jason.

“When are you next seeing the Waynes?” He asked, apparently not wanting to talk about whatever was annoying him. Jason could relate to that.

“Tuesday,” Jason gave Roy a wary glance before sitting next to him, but carefully not touching him in his wound-up state.

Roy groaned and lent back in an over-dramatic sigh. “I need a fucking drink.”

Jason shot Roy a look, “don’t say shit like that, dude.”

“Sorry,” Roy muttered. “Look, about the Waynes …”

He trailed off, looking troubled.

"What?” Jason asked, trying not to sound irritated.

“They … I knew ‘em, back when I lived with Ollie. They were in the same circles as us, you could say,” Roy huffed a laugh. “I used to be friends with Dick when we were kids, but we grew apart as we turned into adults. That whole family, they’re complicated. Just, trust me when I saw you don’t want to get involved too deeply with them, okay?”

“Of course, Roy. I trust you,” Jason agreed, because even though Grayson had been hot, and had definitely been giving him interested looks, Roy must have some serious reason to warn him off. Both he and Roy hated being told what to do and liked being in control of their own lives, so they only ever told each other what to do when it was important.

He and Roy had each other’s backs, and he didn’t even know Grayson. It was a shame, yeah, but he’d get over it. Hopefully before they started rolling around on the mats together on Tuesday.

 

-


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the amazing comments, which I have read and grinned stupidly at. Hope this chapter gets just as positive reaction and that it keeps you all interested in the story!

Dick didn’t know just how Cass had gotten her way out of this—probably something to do with Bruce’s favouritism and her own cunning nature—but despite what he’d told Damian he was very jealous of her right now.

Last night had sucked for everybody, having to stand and act defenceless while Tim got hurt and their stuff got stolen, all for the sake of keeping up the pretence that they were weak and useless airheads. Stopping muggers with guns was a nightly event for all of them; _none_ of them had been scared, and this was _just_ the thing Bruce had spent his life preparing for, but they _couldn’t do anything._ He could tell Bruce felt just as useless then as he did thirty years ago.

Alfred had come up with the idea of publically going to self-defence classes to have an excuse to be able to fight their way out of these situations in the future, and while logistically it sounded like a great idea, Dick’s years as a police officer had taught him just how frustrating it was to hold yourself back when you were used to giving everything your all. Bruce and his siblings hadn’t experienced that before like he had.

He had warned Bruce that this wasn’t going to be a quick-fix, or even an easy one. Bruce had just shrugged and said it’d be good training. Bastard.

The gym Alfred was currently driving them to was small—private—and open, despite being (too) early Sunday and most people in Gotham didn’t like to leave their homes unless they had to.

The owner was a few years younger than him and had good comments on his Facebook page, everybody describing his skill as a fighter and insight as a teacher. Bruce hadn’t been able to find any school reports for him, so they just had to hope that he was more brawn that brain—that way they'd have more breathing room.

Alfred pulled up in front of an old building covered in peeling paint that looked brown but was once probably red. A metallic, professional-looking sign reading ‘RED ROOM’ showed that they were in the right place.

“Remember,” Bruce looked directly at Damian, who had made it known that he thought the whole idea was degrading and a waste of time. “We only know the basics. We are here as civilians, not as heroes. We don’t want this Jason to get suspicious.”

“Sure,” Tim said, sounding like he had a cold due to his broken nose.

“Fine,” Damian snapped, then hopped out the car.

Dick shrugged at Bruce then followed after Damian, figuring his very presence showed his support.

Jason wasn’t what he expected. He was mouthy and unapologetic, which, fair enough. But despite obviously being a Gotham native, he smiled freely and moved with confidence, as if daring trouble to come his way. He was also really attractive—fitting the bill of tall, dark and dangerous—but if he was going to be their trainer Dick couldn’t afford to think like that.

He had managed to catch Damian off guard first try, which even  _Bruce_ struggled to do—though the boy’s arrogance probably was the reason for that. When he went over the basic punches and kicks his form was flawless, and despite his size he didn’t have the same problem Bruce did with jumping kicks and dodging, despite his jokes to Tim.

Worryingly, however, he seemed to notice something was up with their fighting after only an hour. He narrowed his eyes as Tim easily slipped all his punches but failing to land one himself; made a frustrated noise at Bruce’s perfect technique being ruined by the slowness of his movements; raised an eyebrow at Damian knowing exactly where to strike to incapacitate an opponent without being told. Dick was slightly better, managing to let himself get hit and missing when he punched; however he did automatically aim a kick at Jason’s head, which missed but still got extremely high—high enough to make most normal people wince. At Jason’s shocked look Dick shrugged and grinned abashedly, claiming ‘I do yoga’. Jason smirked lewdly and seemed happy with the excuse, thank God.

After two hours Dick figured normal people would be tired, so he called the session off, even though he had been having more fun than he thought he would. They all agreed that training with Jason wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, so they booked a time slot for Tuesday and left the gym just before eleven.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Tim commented for Alfred’s sake on the way back.

Bruce only hummed, but it sounded agreeable.

“The man is an arrogant fool,” Damian sniffed.

“Yeah, an attractive arrogant fool,” Dick grinned, mostly to get a reaction from Damian. The kid glared at him and looked slightly scandalised.

“Please don’t sleep with him,” Tim said. “I don’t want to try out a different gym.”

“No promises,” Dick grinned. He heard Alfred sigh from the driver’s seat.

 

-

 

When he got back to the Manor he took a long shower, then spent most of the day alternating between reading through case files and harassing Damian.

That evening as he reclined on what was unofficially his chair, sitting with the rest of his family and half-watching some Disney film Cass had chosen, he finally checked his phone (he’d forgotten to charge it overnight). Wally had sent him a picture of him pointing to the statue of himself at the Flash Museum, smirking. Donna was demanding an original Teen Titans get together to celebrate Kori returning from Tamaran two weeks from now. Babs had sent him the addresses for some of his suspects on a case. And, most recently, a message had come from Roy.

Huh. That was … surprising. He didn’t blame Roy for hating him, after, well, abandoning him when he was at his lowest. That had been years ago, but due to their stubbornness they had never truly reconnected—however they could still work well alongside each other if they needed to.

The message read _CALL ME,_ which was never reassuring, so Dick braced himself as he stepped out of the room with an apologetic smile to Cass, then rang him.

Roy picked up after only one ring.

“ _You all have a lot of explaining to do,”_ Roy growled.  He sounded … _really_ pissed.

“What?” Dick asked, because he honestly couldn’t think of anything he’d done to annoy him.

“ _Don’t act innocent on me,_ Dick _. What were you doing at Jason’s gym?”_ Roy demanded.

Dick blinked in surprise. “How’d you know we were there?”

“ _How’d I—? I_ live _with Jason. How the fuck wouldn’t I know? He_ told _me,”_ Roy said, affronted.

“You _live_ with him?” Dick demanded, stunned. Talk about small fucking world.

 _“Yeah, idiot. Came in complain’ about the Waynes and their hot-then-cold fighting skills_ ,” Roy had calmed down some now, believing Dick’s confusion.

“Shit, that’s not good,” Dick breathed. Dick doubted he’d come to the conclusion that they were secretly vigilantes just from that, but they had been trying to avoid suspicion.

“ _Considering he figured out I was Arsenal after a week of knowing me, yeah, I’d agree with you_ ,” Roy admitted.

“A _week?_ ” Dick whined. How was he going to tell Bruce this? “Has he ever told anyone?”

 _“Never. He’s the most loyal friend I’ve ever had, and he’s known for five years now. Not told a soul. Still, I doubt the B-Man wouldn’t want an ex-criminal knowing his secret ID, and I don’t want you guys messing with him,”_ Roy said with conviction.

“Bruce never said he had a criminal record,” Dick frowned. That sounds like something Bruce would have checked and probably wouldn’t have been happy working with him if he had.

“ _That’s because I erased it_ ,” Roy said bluntly.

“You—what? _Why?_ ” Dick demanded. Despite his own past actions, Roy had always held strong morals and wasn’t a very forgiving person.

 _“Because he deserves to have a normal life, free from his past. I owe that to him,”_ Roy admitted, and, damn, the Roy Dick used to know was never this open, this honest.

“I—Fuck, man,” Dick sighed. “You know that shit’s illegal. I can’t, just, _ignore_ it.”

 _“Yes you fucking can, Grayson, because it ain’t none of your fucking business,”_ Roy growled.

“Of course it is! I was a cop! I’m Nightwing!” Dick objected.

 _“And you’re also sounding just like Batman,”_ Roy spat.

Dick stiffened. He’d forgotten just how skillful Roy could be with his words, always knowing just what to say to get a suspect to talk, to make you feel better, to start a fight. Dick wouldn’t call being compared to Batman an insult, he wasn’t eighteen anymore—wasn’t blinded by the need for independence and respect. But, while Dick knew Bruce cared a lot, Batman wasn’t allowed to show that, and often viewed people as data in order to be more efficient. That was something he had promised himself he would never do—ever since he’d been on the receiving end of Bruce compartmentalising him as a boy who needed his protection, thus leading to irrational anger when he grew up and became a hero by himself.

“Roy, I’m sounding like a concerned older brother,” Dick protested gently.

“ _Listen, you racist, self-righteous, arsehole—Jason would_ never _do_ anything _to hurt kids, so don’t go making accusations about people you know nothing abou—_ shit,” Roy paused, but before Dick could say something he’d probably regret about Roy calling him racist, Roy carried on: “ _this isn’t over,_ dick _head,”_ then hung up.

Dick made a frustrated noise and shoved his phone angrily into his pocket. He considered going back into the living room, but he didn’t want to be surrounded by a group of nosy detectives who would notice his irritation after about five seconds and want to know what was wrong. Instead, he headed down to the kitchen, hoping he’d bump into Alfred, who was by far the best listener in the family, and who also gave the best advice.

Dick couldn’t bring himself to smile when he saw the old man fussing with the kettle when he stepped into the kitchen, but some of the tension in his shoulders loosened.

“Master Richard,” Alfred greeted with a small smile, but then frowned. “If I may say so, you look positively miserable.”

“Thanks, Alf,” Dick said sarcastically, but without bite. “Are you busy?”

“For you, Sir, never.” Alfred sat down on the kitchen table and gestured for Dick to sit opposite him. “I presume you’re here to ask for my counsel?”

“Right as always, Alfred,” Dick sighed. “I’m stuck.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow, “between what?”

“Being honest with my family and completely destroying a once-strong friendship for good?” Dick offered.

Alfred gave him a long-suffering look. “One more time, Master Richard, but with more detail and less dramatics.”

Dick found himself hesitating, remembering Roy’s words. While Alfred definitely counted as family, and above all else he was loyal to Bruce, he also was very trusting and believed in giving people the benefit of the doubt.

“Okay … You know Jason, our new trainer?” Alfred nodded. “Turns out he’s best friends with Roy Harper.”

Alfred took a moment to place the name, but when he did he looked … not shocked, like Dick was, but intrigued. “Arsenal. He used to come by the Manor when you two were boys.”

“Yeah. He’s known Roy’s secret identity for _years,_ but has never told anyone. Roy’s worried, in his own way, that Jason is gonna figure us out—he’s apparently already suspicious.”

Alfred frowned, taking in this extremely alarming news with nothing but professional stoicism, “there’s more.”

“Uh-huh. To top it all off, he has a criminal record—or, had, because it was bad enough that Roy apparently felt the need to erase it so Jason could live a normal life,” Dick finished, feeling more agitated at having said it out loud.

Alfred sighed, then got up and poured them both a cup of tea. Dick took his sugary one gratefully, clutching the mug securely in his hand.

“What has Mr Harper advised you to do?” Alfred asked.

“He says he’s trustworthy, but that it would be best if we either found a stupider coach or got better at acting.” Dick exhaled loudly. “I dunno, Alf. I know it makes me a horrible friend, but I don’t trust Roy’s objectivity in this. And if Roy’s the one who erased the record, even Barbara couldn’t get it back.”

“Why not just scrap the whole idea? I promise I won’t take offence.”

“Maybe, but it’s a _good_ idea, Alf. You can never have too many alibis, and I think even Bruce managed to learn something from him.”

“Well, if it’s Mr Harper’s objectivity that is under question, why don’t you form your own opinion of him?”

“That—that’s a good call, actually. If I get to know what this Jason’s like outside of the Red Room, I can see if it’s an act or not, if he actually is reformed,” Dick thought out loud.

Alfred smirked. “You were rather keen earlier about courting him.”

“He was totally checking me out,” Dick agreed happily. “I’ll be killing two birds with one stone; I could get to know him, and I could get to _know_ him.”

“Precisely,” Alfred’s eyes twinkled.

“You’re a genius, Alf. Roy … doesn’t have to know, right? For that matter, neither does Bruce, okay? We’ll tell him when I have more information.” Alfred nodded.

He had Alfred’s approval and a solid plan. All he needed to do now was get Jason to go on a date with him—easy.

 

-


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's amazing plan lasts for, like, half an hour, tops.

Their two-hour appointment with Jason on Tuesday started at one o’clock, mostly because most days Bruce couldn’t be trusted to be awake before midday (he hadn’t slept all Saturday night after the mugging). It had been a slow night, so Tim’s absence from the field didn’t leave that much more work for the rest of them, but it also left Dick with a lot of pent up energy. He was keen to get down to the Red Room and get in a serious work-out, but his excitement was dimmed slightly by the fact he couldn’t go all-out.

Oh well. At least he got to see Jason again, and he would be able to start getting his plan into motion. In preparation, he had dressed himself in the tightest vest top he owned and wore shorts that weren’t much longer than his old Robin ones. Bruce sighed when Dick finally came down to meet the rest of his family in front of the door, but hadn’t commented—he was used to Dick’s antics by now.

Cass had come downstairs to see them off, and, judging by the smirk on her face, gloat.

“Remember, Tim,” she was advising his oldest little brother, “you must suck.”

“Thanks, Cass,” Tim said sourly. His voice was mostly back to normal, and the swelling around his eyes had mostly gone down, leaving green and yellow bruises behind.

“Aw, c’mon, Timmy, it’ll be fun!” Dick wrapped and arm around Tim’s bony shoulders. “You had fun last time, right?”

“Not as much as you did,” Tim muttered, then smiled innocently at him.

“Enough with this pathetic excuse of a conversation,” Damian ordered loudly. “We will be late otherwise.”

“Someone’s eager,” Dick observed, surprised. It wasn’t like Damian to allow himself to act enthusiastic about anything where his family could see him.

“Correct. This ‘someone’ is in fact eager to engage in a rematch so he can prove who the better fighter is,” Damian replied.

“No assassin skills,” Tim reminded. “Oh, and the third person thing is creepy and reminds me of your grandfather.”

Damian charged forward, but Bruce literally grabbed him by his scruff and pulled him out the door.

“Let’s not fight before we even reach the gym,” he suggested.

Tim and Dick gave each other dubious looks, but didn’t comment on the ridiculousness of his statement as they followed the pair to the car.

-

The lesson had started off well, on all accounts: it was difficult to look like an expert at warming up; Damian’s face when Jason had suggested he do easier exercises was hilarious; and, most importantly, Jason had definitely stared at his thighs when he first walked into to gym.

Dick couldn’t help but be nervous when Jason had demonstrated simple kicks, and then ordered them to copy him. Thankfully, there was a pair of fighters sparring in the make-shift ring—one of them was very talented, and seemed to be directing the other, whose movements were kind of clumsy and awkward. Dick noticed Tim considering the inexperienced man as he almost tripped over his own foot, before mirroring his imperfect stance and deliberately loosing balance as he kicked at the air, catching himself only just on time so he didn’t fall. Dick grinned at him, expressing his approval while looking like he was teasing him.

Dick’s own kick almost pained him at how bad it was—he had to fight years of muscle memory to keep his leg down below his waist. Damian refused to break from, but his kick had no intent behind it; Bruce—who had insisted that Jason called him ‘Brucie’—was an expert at acting like a buffoon, but a man his size couldn’t sell being weak, so instead kicked with the wrong leg and blinked mindlessly at Jason when he told him to kick with the right instead.

It all had Dick wondering if there were any security cameras, and how easy the hypothetical cameras would be to hack into. There was a long list of people who would get a kick out of the notoriously-perfectionistic batfamily acting like idiots—not just the likes of Wally and Hal Jordan, but also Selina and Ra’s al Ghul. Dick’s showman side has never had a problem with being the butt of a joke—just as long as people were laughing. He was struggling to keep a straight face himself, especially whenever he met Tim’s eyes.

“Alright,” Jason announced after a short break, which he probably thought was for Damian’s benefit. “I think you all got the basics—or, at least, know what they’re supposed to be,” he gave Bruce a dubious look, “so you all know how to give a simple punch and kick. But, the real important stuff is how you defend yourself. Any idiot can throw a punch, but only the best can avoid one. Now, who—?“

Jason cut himself off and focused his gaze behind their group, looking towards the door. His eyes lit up and he grinned wildly—it was, for lack of a better word, beautiful.

“Roy! What up?” Jason shouted.

Dick froze and spun around, Bruce doing the exact same to his side. Roy was walking across the mats wearing a white vest and grey jogging bottoms, his hair in a ponytail. He was smiling back at Jason, but made sure to catch Dick’s eye warningly.

“Not much, Jaybird. Jus’ wanted to check up on my best pal, see if he knew anything about my missing bike …” Roy glared in fake annoyance.

Jason shrugged unapologetically and gave Roy a hug, slapping his back.

“You know it’s out back. If you ain’t busy, wanna be a dummy? You know how good you are at it,” Jason taunted.

Dick glared at the back of Roy’s head, his sudden appearance suddenly clear: he wanted to spy on him.

“Roy Harper, is that you?” Bruce asked in a light voice.

Roy appeared to double-take, blinking dramatically and sweeping his gaze across all of them.

“Why, Brucie! What a small world! And Dick … it’s been a few years,” he said cheerfully.

“I haven’t seen you at any of Ollie’s parties recently,” Bruce observed. Roy didn’t flinch, but his fake smile dimmed slightly.

Tim’s breath hitched as he figured out who Roy was, his eyes widening. Damian was still none-the-wiser, but had noticed their reactions and evidently was annoyed about being left in the dark.

“Well, that’s probably ‘cause I haven’t been invited to any,” Roy said flippantly.

“I wonder why,” Dick muttered loudly. Jason frowned at him.

“Such a surprise, huh?” Tim intervened. “You been in Gotham long, Roy?”

“Yeah, Jaybird and I have been living together for … two-ish years now? I thought you’d know, Brucie,” Roy smirked, obviously pleased to have kept something hidden form the World’s Greatest Detective for so long.

“I guess I’d never picture you outside of Star City,” Bruce explained, barely keeping his glare under control.

“Enough of this!” Damian snapped. “Who is this red-headed fool and why do you all recognise him?”

“Roy and I were friends in our teens. We’ve fallen out of touch since then,” Dick explained, knowing his elusive answer will only pique Damian’s curiosity further.

“Well, while this is all very exciting, I have a class to teach. Roy, if you would please take your position,” Jason ordered, obviously uncomfortable with the animosity in the air.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Roy muttered.

Dick tried not to enjoy the sight of Jason dodging then countering Roy’s punches too much, but it was a hard task. He wished things were different between him and Roy, but his main concern was that he couldn’t flirt with Jason in his presence—God, it sounded bad even in his own head. His master plan was failing, and it had only been in action for about twenty minutes.

“Alright, you got it?” Jason asked them.

“Of course I—” Damian started.

“Hopefully,” Dick said loudly. “Roy, can I partner with you?”

Roy raised an eyebrow, “if it’s okay with the boss?”

Jason looked between them, then sighed. “Just try not to kill each other.”

They stepped away from the group and started to go through the exercises Jason instructed them to do—one partner throws four jabs, the other slips out of the way, swap. Then, one partner throws four jabs, the other blocks, swap. Repeat.

“I thought I told you to stay away,” Roy started.

“You told me to be careful,” Dick corrected. Roy aimed his punches at Dick’s head.

“I’m not—” Roy grunted, having to move quickly to the side. “I’m trying to save your arses.”

“I have the situation under control,” Dick replied. He barely focused on his movements—his body remembered hours of sparring with Roy back when he was Robin and Roy was Speedy. Back when they could work and fight together as easily as breathing.

“And I’m telling you, it isn’t your situation to handle,” Roy swung a kick at him—Dick ducked and rolled under it, and, without thinking, swept his leg out and knocked Roy down. Dick was about to pounce so he could pin Roy, when someone grabbed him around the waist.

“Hey—!” Dick started.

“What are you doing?” Bruce whispered furiously in his ear. “Do you want our cover to be blown?”

“I …” Dick looked around the gym to realise that no one else in his family had been doing the work—they had all been watching Roy and Dick.

Jason hauled Roy to his feet, before twisting around to stare at Dick.

“Where did that come from? How did you manage to take down someone like Roy?” Jason demanded. Shit, shit, shit.

“I, uh … did I mention I used to be an officer in the Blüdhaven P.D.?” Dick laughed awkwardly.

Jason recoiled, stepping away from him.

“You’re a pig?” He spat.

Dick blinked. He had dealt with people treating him with distrust back when he wore the uniform, but had always managed to reassure people that he was one of the good guys. He knew many people had problems with the police, especially in places where corruption ran as deep as Blüdhaven and Gotham—that was partly why he started working there, to try and clean it up from the inside—but Jason’s reaction hinted at something much more personal.

“Not anymore; and we weren’t all pigs, y’know,” Dick responded.

Jason narrowed his eyes at him, and, for the first time, Dick found himself noticing Jason’s size in a non-sexual way.

“Get out,” he said.

“What?”

“Out!” He shouted. “I don't know what you’re doing here, but I ain’t got time for people like _you_.”

Seeing no other option, Dick turned and left in a daze. He stood alone on the pavement for a few seconds, still in shock, before Roy came and stood next to him.

“Boy, it was rough in there. It’s a shame, I haven’t sparred like that in ages,” Roy offered.

“Not now, Roy,” Dick muttered.

“Look, it’s probably for the best, you know? This way you Wayne boys get to keep your secrets, and my friend gets to keep his life,” Roy said.

“What do you mean?” Dick asked.

Roy sighed. “Bows and arrows never held any interest for him. But knock-out punches, grapple-guns and acrobatics? He’d fall in love with that shit.”

“That’s never what we came to do.”

“I know, dude.”

“What did the police do to him, anyway?”

Roy gave him a look, “you really think I’m gonna answer that?”

Dick sighed, and made sure not to meet Bruce’s eyes when he and his brothers exited the building, carrying all their stuff.

“Get in the car,” Bruce ordered, shoving Dick’s bag into his arms.

“Good luck,” Roy offered, before saluting Bruce and going back inside.

“Arsehole,” Dick said, more fondly than he thought he would.

He got into the car, not really knowing where he went wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, guys, I'm embarrassed at how long I've taken to update this. New readers: I'm sorry, but that is a fault of mine, so be warned. Old Readers (if there are any of you left): thank you so much for your patience and I hope this chapter was worth the wait! xx


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